


I Miss The Rooftop

by crunchie_morris



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Gen, idk where this is going lollll
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-06-15 23:09:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15423684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crunchie_morris/pseuds/crunchie_morris
Summary: Jack felt nauseous. That grin activated one of two responses in him - fight or flight. He swallowed hard. He’d just gotten out of the Refuge. He couldn't go back, not again. He’d barely made it last time, or the time before that, or the time before that. He had to run.





	1. Chapter 1

“Jack! Look what I made!”

Crutchie weaved through the crowd, just about glowing with excitement. Jack couldn't help but grin. He hadn't seen Crutchie all morning, and he was starting to get worried. He knew Crutchie had had his doubts about the strike, but now, with a fully finished banner under the broad daylight, he showed Jack his crutch proudly. “Good, huh?” He lifted it above his head. “Strike!!”

Before Jack could respond, Race chimed in. “That's great!” After a moment, he turned to the boy next to him. “That's pitiful.”

Crutchie frowned, opening his mouth to argue, but Les cut in. “Don't be so quick to judge. Maybe Pulitzer will see it out his window and feel sorry for us.”

Jack shot the nine year old and glare before turning to Crutchie, placing a hand on his shoulder. “It’s great. Really.” He assured him softly.

Crutchie’s mouth turned up in a small.smile. “I was hoping you wouldn't be mad I got into your paints.” He whispered.

Jack shook his head. “Not for this beauty.”

Davey walked over and admired it, continuing the speech he’d been giving the boys. 

Jack took Crutchie's hand, looking up at the rising sun as the circulation bell rang. It was gonna be a good day. He felt it. 

And it was. Sure, there'd been a few scary moments near the beginning, a few scabs, but it didn't take long for them to throw down their papers and join the strike. Weasel and his goons were vastly outnumbered. Les had even bested the Delanceys, and the boys got their picture taken for what was the first time for most of them. 

“Newsies forever! Second to none!” Jack cheered, giving Katherine a victorious hug.

Then, Crutchie tugged on his sleeve.

Weasel was back, with way more goons than he’d had before. Jack was shocked the Delanceys actually had friends to recruit. But he couldn't think about that for long before the chaos started.

Jack had been in plenty of fights in his day, but none like this. There were so many people, it got to a point where Jack couldn't tell who was on his side and who wasn't. The only person he knew was with him for sure was Crutchie, so he clung to him like a life raft. 

“Oh Jack,” Crutchie pulled him aside into an alley after a quick scuffle with Oscar. “You're bleeding.” He reached up and wiped a bit of blood off of Jack's forehead with his sleeve. 

“So’re you.” Jack mumbled, wiping away Crutchie’s.

“Mine’s just my nose, I don't even feel it.”

“Davey says that's ‘cause of some kinda thing in your body when you fight, you'll feel it la-"

A whistle sounded, cutting Jack off. Both boys turned to look. It was the cops. 

“It’s about time you showed up!” Romeo cried. “They're slaughtering us!”

In a speedy, heartless motion, the cop knocked the young boy down. Jack was almost positive he'd knocked him out. He started towards him, shouting, “Cheese it, it's the bulls!” vaguely in Crutchie's direction. When the bulls showed up, the two of them knew more than well who would follow. 

Jack knelt beside Romeo and shook him awake, expecting Crutchie to be right behind him. “You okay?” He asked as Romeo slowly sat up woozily. 

Romeo nodded and rubbed his eyes before his focus settled just beyond Jack. “Crutchie.”

Jack frowned, a pit in his stomach. “No, it's Jack.”

Romeo tugged on Jack's shirt collar. “No, you nitwit, Crutchie!” His voice was filled with panic. 

Jack followed Romeo’s shaking finger to see Crutchie being dragged away by the Delancey brothers. “Jack, Romeo, Finch!” Jack's eyes trailed along to see none other than Snyder waiting for him, a malicious grin on his face. 

Jack felt nauseous. That grin activated one of two responses in him - fight or flight. He swallowed hard. He’d just gotten out of the Refuge. He couldn't go back, not again. He’d barely made it last time, or the time before that, or the time before that. He had to run.

“Crutchie!”

He didn't.

Jack stood and scrambled towards Crutchie, who was on the ground now. Snyder had taken his crutch. Jack leapt between them and snagged the crutch, whacking Snyder in the stomach with it, hard. Snyder fell, the wind knocked out of him. Jack turned to Crutchie and helped him sit up. “Crutchie.”

Crutchie looked relieved for barely a moment before his eyes widened. “Jack, run!”

Before Jack could even turn, the crutch was sailing through the air once more, hitting Jack’s head with a loud crack. Jack was down. 

Crutchie gasped. Jack's head was already injured, so this quickly sealed the deal. Crutchie wanted to move to help him, but he was frozen. 

“It’s back where you belong,” Snyder snarled to Jack's unconscious figure. His flashing eyes raised towards Crutchie. “You wanna come too?”

Crutchie stood shakily. He didn't have his crutch. He didn't know how long he could stay upright without it. He reached for Jack, desperately trying to pull him out of Snyder's grip, but it didn't take long for his leg to give out.

Crutchie tried to get up once more, but he couldn't. His leg was screaming. Through the stars that flashed in front of his eyes from the pain, Crutchie barely saw his cracked crutch land beside him as Jack was taken from him once more. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I haven’t touched this story since August, but I had a sudden burst of inspiration tonight. Thank my ADHD for my unreliable authoring. Most of this chapter was written back in August, but I’m still gonna give myself kudos for finishing it. Anyway, I’m hoping this inspiration lasts because I have been stuck in such a writing rut. If you’ve got any suggestions on what should happen next, please let me know! Like I said in the last chapter, I don’t want this to just be a rehash of the musical. I’ve just started the third chapter but I’m kinda flying blind?? Wish me luck. Hope you enjoy!

The only thing Crutchie knew at this point was that he couldn't face the boys. Not now. 

He had tied his strike banner around his crutch in a vain attempt to fix it, and he was now dragging himself in some unknown direction. Night was falling, but under the gaslights on the side of the street, he could see blood on the crutch soaking through the banner’s fabric and staining. He felt like crying upon seeing it, but he was all cried out. He felt numb and in agonizing pain at the same time. 

“...Where the hell am I going?” Crutchie muttered. He was headed in the opposite direction of the Lodging House, which was the last place he wanted to go. Race would be left in charge, and he didn't want to talk to Race. Race, who was right about his attempts to aid the strike being pitiful.  _ Pitiful. _

Eventually, Crutchie found himself wandering near the Bowery. The bright lights of the marquees burned his tired eyes, and the scent of cheap perfume, alcohol, and cigars littered the air, making him sneeze. 

He glanced around at the theaters. He didn't want to be taken in for loitering...then again, maybe he did. At least he wouldn't be alone. Even if he didn't, a few seconds in the lobby of a theater couldn't hurt him too bad. Just to get out of the muggy, summer night’s air so he could maybe clear his thoughts. 

Crutchie nearly stumbled into a theatre. His good leg was actually the one hurting him now; the bad leg had gone almost entirely numb. He slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor, his chest heaving with what would be sobs had he been able to cry. 

Jack was in the Refuge again, and it was his fault. Jack wasn't even recovered from the last time; he still had night terrors nearly every night. With the fragile mental state he was already in, how would he last a day in there?

But, it wasn't only Jack's life that Crutchie had put at risk. Oh no, by letting the newsies lose their leader, the whole strike was ruined. He didn't know where his brothers were. More could be in the Refuge. More could be injured. More could be-

“Oh my goodness.”

Crutchie looked up, his neck hating him for moving so quickly. Out of all the theaters he could have wandered into, Miss Medda Larkin was standing right above him. 

“Crutchie!” She knelt in front of him, immediately fussing over his injuries. “Crutchie, what happened? What is all this?”

Crutchie opened his mouth to speak but found no words could come out, just another dry sob. 

“Shh, shh, shh,” Medda took his hand. “Breathe.”

After a few more moments, Crutchie managed to choke out, “J-Jack. Refuge.”

Medda's face was washed with understanding and anxiety. “Oh no. Snyder got him again?”

Crutchie nodded. “Sh-shoulda got me.”

“Oh no, honey, don't you say such a thing,” Medda shook her head. “Ptooey. He shouldn't get any of you.” She sighed. “Let's...let's get you cleaned up and you can tell me the whole story whenever you're ready.”

Something that was either gratitude or nausea welled up in him, possibly both. Maybe he wasn't all cried out after all. He made a move to stand, but Medda stopped him, opening her arms to carry him. 

Crutchie shook his head. “M’fine.” But, he didn't try to stand again. After a moment of resignation, he sighed and opened his arms for Medda take him. She was one of only two people ever allowed to carry him, no matter how badly soaked he was.

* * *

 

“...So, some strike that was,” Crutchie and Medda were in a dressing room. He slowly sipped a mug of peppermint tea as Medda dressed his wounds. “We really stuck it to Pulitzer.”

“Hey. You got out there and fought. That's more than I bet any of those stuffy rich men expected you to do.” Medda replied, wrapping gauze around the gash in his good leg. 

“Yeah, I guess,” Crutchie shrugged slightly. “I didn't fight enough, though. Jack...Jack's in the Refuge, ‘cause of me.”

“Not ‘cause of you, ‘cause he  _ loves _ you,” Medda corrected him. “Because of his hero complex. If it had been you...I don't want to think about what kind of poor shape he'd be in.”

“He can't be in much better shape at the Refuge!” Crutchie's voice shook. 

“Shh,” Medda took his hand. “Jack has made it through before. So, I don't doubt his ability to make it through again. I bet as soon as you win that strike, you can get him out of there.”

“...Should we even continue the strike?” Crutchie asked softly. “I-I mean, look where it got us. Jack's gone, maybe more are too, dozens are hurt.”

“But, you're still standing,” Medda assured him. “Look, it's your decision to make, you and the rest of the newsies. But either way, you have to be there for one another. You can't do that if you don't take care of yourself first.”

Crutchie nodded slowly. “...Thank you, Miss Medda.”

“Of course,” Medda smiled sadly. “You're an incredible kid, Crutchie. Things’ll turn out okay. Give yourself tonight to be hurt and angry, but most of all, to rest.”

It was then that Crutchie realized how exhausted he was. His whole body ached terribly. He just wanted to sleep it all away. “Rest...rest sounds good.”

“Don't it?” Medda squeezed his hand gently. “Finish up that tea, and I'll find you someplace cozy to sleep tonight.”

Crutchie thanked her as she left, but he didn't stay awake long enough to wait for her to find a bed. He drifted off in the dressing room, into a tense, restless night.

* * *

 

Someone had wrapped a rope tightly around Jack’s head and tied it sharply, letting it squeeze his until his skin turned paper white.

At least, that’s what it felt like.

Jack wasn’t entirely sure he could lift his head. He definitely didn’t want to open his eyes. But he had no clue where he was.

Blearily, he blinked his eyes open. It was just dark. Just plain dark. But then, the musty smell hit his nose; the scent of dust, rat droppings, and dried blood mingled in the air.

Jack jerked at the realization, his body hating him for the sudden movement. But his heart was pounding too fast to care. 

No.  _ No.  _ **_No._ **

Jack looked around and as his eyes adjusted to the light, he could make out the other bunks and the boys that lay on them, some groups of three or four crammed into one. Jack’s head somehow felt dizzy and heavy at the same time, and he felt like a snake had somehow wrapped itself around his lungs. He wanted to run. He had to run, he had to get out.

He couldn’t.

The only thing Jack could do in his exhausted state was cry. So he did. He pulled his knees up to his chest, his legs protesting the motion, and let out wheezing, heaving sobs. After what could have been minutes or hours, the sobs turned into half-asleep sniffles as he drifted back into dreams that the walls were closing in on him.

Jack was still just as confused and hurt as he was when he woke up, but he knew one thing now - the nightmare he’d had the night before came true.

Jack failed.

**Author's Note:**

> Whoops. Did that go where you expected it?  
> Haha, anyway, I have no clue where this is going. I just had this sudden idea closing night of Newsies (Oh yeah, I was in Newsies!) and needed to right it to fill the show-shaped hole in my heart. But, I'm kind of flying blind here. All I know is I don't want this to just be a rehash of the Act 2 but with Crutchie rather than Jack. There's definitely going to be parallels, sure, but Crutchie is obviously not Jack, therefore things won't go exactly as they did. So, that's where I need some help. I have a general idea of where I want to go, but what do y'all wanna see? Should there be any pairings? Do you even wanna see more? Let me know please!!


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